Mighty Twelve

Crazy: The pre-match brouhaha was ubiquitous: mighty serve vs. cunning backhand, physical prowess vs. mental virtuosity, David vs. Goliath. There’s a host more but they are all inconsequential now as Serena fashionably cinched her dominance in women’s tennis and silenced her naysayers. Crazy, crazier, craziest: only Serena Williams is capable of defying and symbolizing superlatives after superlatives.

Crazier: Winning her 12th Grand Slam title, Serena, heavily wrapped around with bandages and straps, had once again cemented her rights to be called as one of tennis greats. Winning 6-4, 3-6, 6-2, the American hardly broke a sweat as she outsliced, outclassed and outserved Henin denying the latter of a fairytale comeback after nearly twenty months of hiatus. Though the match lacked passages of play, it was special as it was the first time that the rivals have met in a Grand Slam final.

The Williams-Henin rivalry has all the makings of a classic. The differences are stark: While a larger-than-life Serena rests heavily on her powerful serve, cracking big forehands and mental impetus, the relatively short Belgian relies on her potent backhands and her stoutness for long rallies. Either way, their A-games combined put all the wannabee Russians to utter shame! (Whatever happened to Maria Sharapova and her banana?)

Craziest: A week ago, Serena was not supposed to win the crown. She was a set and 4-0 down against a willful Victoria Azarenka of Belarus in the quarterfinals and was pushed exceedingly by Na Li of China in the semifinals. But as the books dictate, never count out an injured Serena! She’s like an animal – even more dangerous when wounded and Justine happened to be the pitiful prey.

Sheer power, mental edge, animal instinct, and Hollywood-esque charisma make Serena truly special. Forget the sporadic outbursts, quell the off-court passions, forgive the outrageous fashion mantra, Serena is the Queen of Tennis - a kind of player that rarely comes into the scene. Her athletic clock is ticking but at 28, there’s no sign of degeneration yet and yes, the domination continues!

Kick-Ass Songs for January

Whataya Want From Me (Adam Lambert) - Yeah, wail with me! Almost a year after, we’re still reeling from his loss. In hindsight, it was the biggest rip-off in American Idol history. But as true talent could never be written off, guess what? Adam Lambert, with his fliratatious grin, is having the last laugh! As if having undergone a cool metamorphosis, Mr. Lambert is now bolder, savvier and gayer! Proof: listen to his album, For Your Entertainment! A well-crafted, deliciously-detailed, edgy pop-rock album, Mr. Lambert’s talent gloriously shines in every track that immensely pales in comparison to Idol winners. Whataya Want From Me, the album’s second track, is a pop-rock song extraordinaire. The emotions’ Adam had mustered for the song are accessibly raw, the belting, just pure brilliance. Straightforward and just a perfect vibe of rock, Mr. Lambert’s Whataya Want From Me is a proof that he’s here for our entertainment!





Future Love (Kristinia Debarge) - If you’re the child of a famous popstar, the pressure to succeed is always high. Thankfully, Kristinia Debarge knows the name of the game and is slowly carving out her musical niche. Sassy and with just the right amount of sexuality, Future Love, co-written by the “sassy recycler” Ryan Tedder, is a feel-good pop-anthem minus the pop cruminess. From her debut album Exposed, a collaboration with Ryan Tedder, Babyface, and Tynisha Keli, Future Love is reminiscent of Timbaland-style musical punch: always worthy on the dancefloor!. It is hip and edgy and with a famous proverbial last name, Ms. Debarge is set to conquer the pop world and she has the opening act for Britney Spears this fall to kick it off!





Crawl (Chris Brown) – Surely, our biased image of Chris Brown will be that of a deplorable hooligan, a beast having tormented a fragile princess. An eventful twists of drama, the Rihanna-Chris Brown entanglement was an omnipresent fodder. And guess who’s taking its toll? The talented Mr. Brown. His latest album, Graffiti (for real: what’s with the revolting cover?), charted at disappointingly number 55 on Billboard Hot 200 and was heavily panned by critics. A saving grace, his latest track, Crawl, is a winner, though!. Emotional, candid and heart-wrenching, Crawl provides an avenue to showcase Mr. Brown’s vulnerability and humanity. Underneath that veneer of thug coolness, after all, is a softness suscepibility. Talk about taming of the shrew!

Ghetto Reality

Back in 2001, Lee Daniels produced an independent film called Monster. From sheer obscurity to critical raves, the movie spawned much love from indie-netizens and an Academy award for Halle Berry (the weakest in 2000s, in my opinion). Eight years later, Mr. Daniels’ new film, Precious, seems to wind up replicating the destiny of Monster.

Based on the novel, “Push,” by Sapphire, Precious tells the story of a sixteen-year-old Claireece “Precious” Jones trapped in the grittiness of the ghetto world. Precious is fat, sexually abused, unloved by her mother and constantly bullied. Yet, she is a star in her own repressed, Hollywood-colorful world. When pain hits Precious, on her mind, she metamorphosizes into the singing diva, the fierce, blonde supermodel and the award-winning actress – a superstar devoid of anguish and trauma. Life is hard, but Precious is solid and stolid.

Precious’ strength lies on its honest and no-holds-barred depiction of the ghetto world. It could have been an overkill smorgasbord of thorny issues (AIDS, sexual abuse, unemployment, racism, teenage pregnancy) but Mr. Daniels managed to cohesively harmonize all of them into a seamless, gripping and moving experience.

Notwithstanding, the ensemble’s acting gives the film its charisma and unique charm. Gabourney Sidibe, playing Precious, painfully shines in every scene. Hers was such a well-measured portrayal with an emotional weight she delivered with great aplomb. Monique, playing Precious’ mother, gets my vote for Best Supporting Actress of 2009. She is mean, sadistic, conniving yet pitiful at the same time. Her frighteningly convincing performance towards the end of the film is the apex of her depth and gift as an actress. But the utter surprise goes down to Mariah Carey. As the demaglourized, tough-talking social worker, this “pitch perfect” performance of Ms. Carey is enough to obliterate from our collective memory her ghastly acting in 2001’s flop Glitter. Clearly, Mr. Daniels is adept at maximizing the emotional resources of his actors.

Precious is bold, groundbreaking, an eye-opening. It will surely get its much-deserved nod come Oscars. But for the win? Regardless of Oprah’s Midas touch, it is quite a long shot. Up In The Air, The Hurt Locker and Inglorious Basterds seem to be the current favorites. But, surely, I do picture Monique holding that golden statuette because she freaking deserves it!

The Return of The Wild

What: New Year’s Celebration

Where: Eastwood City, Libis

Partner-in-Crime: Regina (aka Mikaela - her pseudonym in Starbucks’ premises) – a high school and college classmate (gosh, it’s been more than a decade of epicureanism, shocking vulgarities, and in-your-face bitching!) whose inebriation level, I declared, is the 8th wonder of the world. (On how unfazed she is going to work after 10 bottles of San Mig Light is worthy of a standing ovation!) Couple it with her infectious chortling that produces a sound with a decibel level enough to excruciate one’s ears, you’ve got a quintessential party animal personified (no pun intended!)! She, to me, with her sexual pride, is the reincarnate of Lulu and has since taken great strides in her pursuit to becoming the ultimate dominatrix.

Chronicle of Events

10:00 pm - A late dinner at KFC. According to Hoyle, a full stomach before boozing is indispensable to circumvent abdominal upsets. As we’re both famished, the conversation was insipid and the responses were terse.

10:30 pm - A quick quaff at Something Fishy. We ordered a concoction of rum and iced tea and adobo as our pulutan. The tête-à-tête ranged from a classmate’s loser boyfriend to the presidential elections. And after months of no puffing mantra, with the unmistakable December breeze very inviting, I finally gave in. A break from a vice-less existence is definitely bliss!

11:45 pm - We squeezed ourselves in amidst the madding crowd. We pushed, pushed, and shoved away anything and anyone that obstructed our way towards the coveted best vantage point.

12:00 mn – The countdown has ceased and the euphoria was at its heightened intensity. What the heck, it’s officially 2010! The whimsical and generous pyrotechnics display animated the sky. There’s something to be said of people being so naively cheery and pleasant and sunny in times like this. It felt surreal but I blended in easily, nevertheless.

12:10 am – The frolic carried on and shrieking was the singular action in Eastwood. We did our part in a bombastic fashion that the kid so full of teen angst behind us closed her eyes and covered her ears. What a pathetic wallflower! What was she expecting, a solemn church ritual? It didn’t stop there. At the end of the revelry, the mom asked Regina in a sarcastic way: “Are you okay with all that shouting?” We shrugged her off and executed the meanest look we could muster!

12:25 am - Freestyle played a medley of r&b songs that really made us dance. A group of shy Middle Eastern ladies grooved with us, left their inhibitions in their ultra-conservative country and let loose of themselves. It was self-indulgent, carefree, fun and a great barometer of what 2010 lies ahead for me: hedonistic!

1:25 am – Our energy level began to wane and an antidote was much-needed: Starbucks. The queue was rather insufferable. Regina, who had no sleep yet for the past 24 hours, must have contemplated: zero glamour or adrenaline rush? The choice was rather a no-brainer.

2:00 am – The party was a kick-ass, albeit short, and we weren’t prepared to say goodbye to the dance floor yet. We searched for any open bars but to no avail. It was already 2:30 in the wee hours of the morning and Regina, bound by corporate duty, has to promptly kiss Americans' asses by 4:00 am. Unless she’s not taking any drugs to keep her pumping up, then I want some of her adrenaline genes.

2:30 am - We parted ways. I took the bus. Getting off, UP was creepily romantic. The ashes and the fog combined gave an ethereal effect. It felt cinematic. I felt like in a Bergman movie. Very film noir! But just like every film, a tension must transpire: grasping my pocket, it felt flat. A familiar object seemed not to jut. Then it hit me: I lost my phone. I thought: Yeah, what a grand way to kick off the New Year!